


Going the Distance

by lilsherlockian1975



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Athlete!Brienne, Communication Issues, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humor, Jaime is stupidly in love, Journalist!Jaime, Misunderstandings, canon typical age difference, don't take ED drugs if you don't need them!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29368815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsherlockian1975/pseuds/lilsherlockian1975
Summary: Jaime is completely in love with his bronze medal-winning goddess of a girlfriend, however, she never stays the night… afterwards. Always runs out in a hurry to get home for ‘training’ in the morning. His need for more time with Brienne has driven him to truly desperate (and medically inadvisable) measures.“Jaime, we’ve known each other for a lot of years. Just tell me.”“I need some of those little blue pills,” he blurts.Addam’s smile drops, his head tilting to the side as his eyes fall on Jaime’s crotch. “Performance issues? Really, Jaime, you’re only thirty-six…”“I’m not having a problem getting it up!”“Then why do you need me to…?”“She won’t stay!” he interrupts. Running his hand through his hair, he paces the room. “She won’t stay the night. Ever."
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 50
Kudos: 204
Collections: The Exchange that was Promised: Jaime x Brienne Smut Swap 2021





	Going the Distance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EryiScrye (SomberSecrets)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomberSecrets/gifts).



> This isn't exactly what my prompter asked for but the first fic I wrote sucked somethin' awful, so I scrapped it and started over. I really hope you like it, hun. Please don't let the age difference scare you, it's important to the story and isn't quite as large of a gap as their book ages. 
> 
> _Septathlete (a person) competing in the Septathlon or ‘The Games’ (sort of Westeros’ equivalent to the Olympic Games) - Seven sporting events: kayaking, cycling, running, archery, strength, the melee and a free-form event that is different every for every Game ___

“... gods _fuck_ ! Bri... _enne_!” Jaime drags out the syllables of her name as he tries to remain on planet Earth long enough to take her with him when he comes. It’ll be a near miracle, as usual. He sends a silent thanks to any deity listening that he already managed to get her off with his mouth before they started fucking.

She’s on top of him tonight. Strong— _ridiculously strong_ —thighs grip his hips as she rides him, head thrown back far enough that her short hair is touching her sculpted shoulders. Her small, firm breasts give just a bit of bounce, and Jaime’s riveted by their movement. They are completely free of obstruction at the moment, as her arms are stretched behind her, those large hands of hers tightly gripping his thighs. 

Speaking of gripping tightly…

 _Have they added a_ Kegel _event to the septathlon?_ he wonders at the feel of her internal muscles clenching rhythmically around him. It’s a good sign though; she must be close. Her long, elegant neck is stretched as taut as her bow when she’s about to loose an arrow and she’s grunting almost as loudly as she does when doing a deadlift. The imagery only makes Jaime thrust harder from below, lifting his lover off the mattress as he drives them both even closer their ends. 

Her head snaps forward. Astonishing blue eyes, bright and damn near glowing, catch his as she whispers, _“Jaime,”_ with a husky moan. It’s now or never. If he doesn’t do something soon, he is going to embarrass his old arse. 

In a move that can only be attributed to endorphins and pure unadulterated sex-madness, Jaime grips Brienne’s hips hard enough to bruise and flips them both, pinning her beneath him without ever leaving the sweet perfection of her body. 

“By the Seven! How did you…?” she tries to ask, but he cuts her off with a kiss, unable and unwilling to attempt an explanation at the moment. 

Frankly, it defies explanation, though most of the credit should go to his _endowment_ , if he’s being honest. _I’m old, I’m scarred and (at the moment) quite winded but thank the gods for this cock!_ It’s all immaterial anyways, Jaime’s sole focus is on making the girl come. Now! He presses his weight down on her—she can take it because his Brienne is a godsdamn marvel—grinding his pelvic bone over her with every stroke. This is the perfect stimulation for her clitoris. She’s all lean muscle and her other-worldly pussy is no exception. When the angle is right—usually, him on top, Brienne laid open, taking everything he’s got—he doesn't even have to use his fingers to rub her clit. 

It has taken time and practice to learn how to make this goddess come. Their first night together had been magical but then there were a few… missteps. Jaime adapted, though, quickly finding the most efficient ways to bring Brienne to a glorious peak. No small feat for a man twelve years her senior but Jaime’s never shied away from a challenge. 

He nips at her neck, careful not to mark her. She wears so little clothing for training that her breasts and cunt are basically his only ‘love-bite safe zones’. He then tugs her hair roughly and whispers, _“I know you’re close, champ. I am too. Come for me, Brienne.”_

It does the trick (he’ll have to try to remember that one). Brienne’s nails are suddenly gouging into the flesh of his shoulders as her already tight sheath clamps down on him like a fucking vice. Her back arches and she’s so ridiculously strong that she very nearly bucks him off of her. Were it not for the tight hold of her arms and legs (and cunt!), Jaime might have found himself on the floor, but her strength keeps him close, exactly where he’s supposed to be. The combination sends him over the edge, chanting her name as he empties himself (his come, his soul and possibly his life force) into the condom that he _really_ wishes wasn’t there. 

Maybe he falls asleep or blacks out, he’s not sure because the next thing he knows, Brienne is rolling him off of her with ease. “Are you okay?” she asks sheepishly. 

“Um, yeah, I think so.” He’s at the very least dehydrated but that’s fixed easily enough.

“Your back…” she says, pulling her plump bottom lip into her mouth. “I, uh, think I scratched you.” 

Then she’s sitting up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She looks back over her shoulder once, before standing to gather her clothes and sprint into his en suite. Jaime, suddenly remembering his ultimate goal for the evening, sits up, deals with the condom and grabs his boxers. Tugging them on, he makes his way to the door that is separating him from his girl. “You really don’t have to leave, you know,” he calls out.

No matter what they’ve done that night, no matter how naked he’s seen her, or how many times he’s made her come, Brienne will never get dressed in front of him. It’s an adorable dichotomy that he can’t quite figure out. Her selective modesty is just another thing he loves about her and he’d tell her if she didn’t bolt _every. damn. time_. 

Seconds later the door opens. Brienne is fully dressed, wearing jeans and a jumper, holding a small white box that only looks vaguely familiar. She smiles sweetly and says, “Lie down and let me tend those scratches before I go.”

Oh, and doesn’t his heart just about burst out of his chest with the thought of her taking care of him! But… “You don’t have to leave, Brienne,” he says, stepping closer and taking her still pink cheeks between his hands. “You always rush out after.”

Her face flushes bright red at the mention of ‘after,’ as if she’s somehow forgotten what they’ve just done. Placing her free hand over one of his, she shakes her head. “I have training in the morning. _Every_ morning. Jaime, you know this.”

He’s not giving up. Leaning in (and slightly up on his tiptoes) he kisses the corner of her mouth. “I _do_ have an alarm clock, champ,” he says, using his favourite nickname for her. He kisses her again, this time stroking his tongue into her warm, welcoming mouth. “Stay with me.” His hands snake down, palming her arse. It’s somehow as hard as Valyrian steel and yet still soft and feminine at the same time. Jaime groans into her delicious-smelling neck, wishing he was twenty-two again, when his refractory period was seconds, or so it seemed. If he could get hard right now, maybe he could convince her to stay. _Gods, I just want to wake up next to this woman!_

Brienne makes a needy sound that is completely contradictory to the act of nudging him away. But once he’s far enough to look her in the eyes, he can see that there is no point in arguing. 

“Let me see your back. Please?” she asks and he gives in. 

He’s not getting his way tonight but he’s not giving up, either. 

His back is worse than he’d thought. Brienne takes photos on her mobile and shows him rather than making him get up to look in the mirror. It’s a bit grisly and she’s completely embarrassed. Jaime, on the other hand, is impressed and wears them like a badge of honour but his girl makes him promise that he will have them looked at. _‘You can’t properly reach them and I can’t come back over until Friday. Please, Jaime, your best friend is a doctor! Just have him take a look. For me. If that got infected, I’d never forgive myself.’_ The _for me_ does it, of course. Besides, he has a question for Dr Marbrand. Jaime calls Addam the next day. His friend tells him to come in at 5.30; he’ll see Jaime after his other patients. 

* * *

“Seven fucking hells, Jaime,” Addam says as he examines his friend’s back. “She did a number on you, man.” 

“I already told you tha - _Shit!_ That hurts! What the hells are you doing back there?”

“It’s antiseptic, you giant baby. I’ve heard less whinging from toddlers.” 

Jaime stops complaining. He’d certainly enjoyed acquiring the scratches and he really needs to talk to Addam about something important. 

“But seriously, tell your girl to be careful or trim her nails,” Addam says, washing his hands once he's finished and pronounced Jaime fit.

Jaime gets up and tugs his t-shirt back on. “Her nails are quite short already. She's just, ah…”

“Yeah, I get it.” Addams chuckles as he turns. “The young ones tend to be... enthusiastic,” he says with a wink, then starts writing something down in Jaime’s file. 

“Speaking of youth, ah, she’s, umm…” Suddenly Jaime’s having a hard time finding the right words. It had seemed like a simple enough plan originally, but now…

“What? Is she too much for ya?” Addam’s smug face is _not_ helping.

“No, no that’s not it, exactly.”

“Jaime, we’ve known each other for a lot of years. Just tell me.”

“I need some of those little blue pills,” he blurts.

Addam’s smile drops, his head tilting to the side as his eyes fall on Jaime’s crotch. “Performance issues? Really, Jaime, you’re only thirty-six…”

“I’m _not_ having a problem getting it up!” 

“Then why do you need me to…?”

“She won’t stay!” he interrupts. Running his hand through his hair, he paces the room. “She won’t stay the night. _Ever_. It’s always ‘I have training tomorrow’ and I know she does, Addam, but The Games are over and…”

“She’ll compete again, Jaime. She took the bronze, for the gods’ sake! No one expected her to even make it past the deadlift.”

“In four years! The Games are another four years away!” Jaime shouts. “It’s an excuse and I know it. She could be taking a break, a small one at least. She just doesn’t want to, for some reason!”

“First of all, calm down,” Addam demands, grabbing his friend by the shoulders and forcing him into a chair. “Secondly, she’s really never stayed? Not once?”

Jaime takes two deep breaths and answers, “She stayed the first night. But I wore her out, I think, and she just fell asleep right after. I need to do that again but I can’t because - fuck, Addam, you don’t understand how fucking sexy she is and when I’m inside her...” He looks up at his best friend, trying to convey the importance of his plan. “I can’t last! I never do!”

Addam cringes. “Oh, man… Sorry. She’s not, ah, finishing?”

“I get her there, one way or another but she is just so fucking strong and… her body… People are cruel, you know! I’ve heard the nasty comments, read them - the internet is a dark place, full of _so_ many terrors. And you don’t want to know what my own family has to say on the matter. But you have to believe me, Brienne Tarth naked and unabashed in the throes of passion is the hottest fucking thing on the planet.”

“Have you ever heard me say an unkind word about your girlfriend? You don’t have to sell me; I get the attraction.” Addam looks dreamily across the examination room. “Her legs when she was fighting in the melee…all muddy and sweaty…and long.” He looks at Jaime again and asks, “Have you ever measured them? I’d like to know exactly how long…?”

“Get your mind off Brienne’s legs and onto my penis!” Jaime exclaims. The men just stare at each other for several seconds before Jaime shakes his head and Addam doubles over laughing. “You know what I mean! I need another night like our first to show her how great it can be if she’d just stay.”

When he finally composes himself, the doctor explains, “I can’t prescribe you ED meds just to get your girl to spend the night with you. I do have _some_ ethics, you know.” Jaime opens his mouth to beg, if he has to, but Addam cuts him off. “Have you tried simply asking her?”

“Of course I have! I ask her every time.”

“And you two have been dating for, what five or six months?”

 _Five months, three weeks and two days._ “Something like that. But listen…”

Just then, Addam’s mobile goes off. He looks at it and says, “I need to take this.” As he heads for the door, he throws, “I’ll be right back,” over his shoulder on his way out. 

Jaime paces the exam room, his mind racing as he tries to come up with another angle to convince his (about to be former) best friend of the urgency of this matter. _How is it that I don’t have blackmail material on this arsehole!?_ He’s just desperate enough to involve Tyrion and his somewhat disreputable friend Bronn should Addam refuse. _No, I can’t be underhanded about this. Mustn’t temp fate whilst wooing the most honourable human being I’ve ever met._

When Addam returns, he’s got a stupid grin on his face. “Okay, listen, I’m not writing you a script, but I’ve got a sample here…”

_Not an arsehole. A true king amongst men._

“One pill, Jaime. One. I still think you’re completely insane as is your plan, but if this is what it takes to convince you…” 

“Her! I need to convince _her_ , Addam. I’m sold.”

His friend sighs. “I wouldn’t do this if you weren’t in excellent health, however - and this is important! - if your erection lasts longer than four hours…” Jaime snorts. “... or you have chest pain or anything else out of the ordinary, you _have_ to go to the hospital.” Jaime nods, reaching for the tiny sample pack, but Addam holds it just out of his reach. “Promise me, you idiot!”

Rolling his eyes, he says, “None of that’s going to happen, but yes. If by some medical miracle, I manage a four-hour boner, with my sexy as fuck, bronze septathlete girlfriend, I’ll go to hospital.” He reaches for the pack again. “Now gimme!” 

* * *

_This shit is strong,_ Jaime thinks then wonders if he could pound a nail with his cock. Both thoughts are fleeting, however, because he has been _pounding_ into Brienne for nearly an hour and his warrior-goddess has come five times already. He feels like he’s just taken gold at The Games and also like he may be having a mild heart attack. _Should probably add more cardio to my workouts_.

None of that matters because Brienne is holding him so close and panting softly in his ear. Her cunt has gotten progressively tighter and wetter with each orgasm. He came once - at least he _thinks_ he did, it’s all very confusing - and not _as_ quickly as usual but had _somehow_ (the drug, of course, no ‘somehow’ about it) gotten hard again before he even managed to pull out of her. Or it wasn’t an actual orgasm but something else. Though the condom feels pretty slippery; it’s definitely got a fair amount of liquid, whether a super-sized shot of pre-cum or his entire load, Jaime doesn’t know. 

Brienne had given him a strange look when it happened - the pseudo-orgasim, that is - and Jaime didn’t quite know how to tell her he was good to go again so quickly without spilling the whole truth. So he didn’t. He just shrugged and changed positions, saying, “That was close but…”

His champ had looked concerned and hurt, for some reason, but had complied with his request for a position change, not questioning why he wanted them on their sides - her back to his front. They’d never done it like that before. He always likes seeing her face, those expressive eyes of hers, watching as she gives herself over to him.

That particular alignment, however, did give him plenty of access to her long neck (for kissing and nibbling) and freed up his hands (for nipple fondling and clitoris frigging). And wasn’t that the point of all this? To get her off as much as possible? 

He had also made sure to be as ‘sweetly filthy’ (Brienne’s words) as possible when describing how she felt around his cock and what he best loved about her. “Fuck, champ, you’re so tight and pressed up against me like this, I can feel that perfect arse of yours, bouncing off my abs.” It had made him want to take her from behind as he imagined her thick thigh muscles, forcing his cock into her, harder, deeper. “Your neck was made for kissing, did you know that? Gods, I want to mark you. I have to _make_ myself not do it or else someone might ask why you’re always running in turtleneck jumpers.” 

“Ja-Jaime!” she had called to him as her Kegel muscles had tried to pinch his dick off near the base. 

But that was thirty odd minutes and three orgasms ago and now… Jaime feels like he’s been on the edge since her first; since just after his almost (or _his_ first? he’s still not sure) but… also _not_ close _. What the fuck?_

“Are you… Jaime?” she asks in a breathless whisper. “Is s-something wrong?” Her eyes are wide and searching.

They've switched again. Jaime, in an attempt to find a new, better angle to drive her crazy, has once again, tried something different. Now he’s sitting up with his back against the headboard as Brienne rides him like a sexy _fucking_ Valkery. _Gods! Why can’t I come?_ It really is one of the hottest things he’s ever seen and definitely the sort of thing that normally sent him to a hasty finish. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he pants, his fingers digging into her the flesh of her hips. 

“But is... Why haven’t you f-finished yet?” she asks. Even though she’s talking, with an adorable little crease between her white-blonde eyebrows, she doesn’t break stride. She too is panting, soaked in sweat and flushed, but seems much less affected by their marathon sex than Jaime. 

Her inhuman endurance shouldn’t surprise him; she’s the most impressive athletic specimen he’s beheld in his entire career (so what if he’s a bit biased?), but it does and possibly makes him even harder. “Fuck, I want to, Brienne. I want to come!”

“What can I do?” She seems distressed now, her pace slowing. 

Actually, it’s… She’s wincing on the downstroke. Everytime, Jaime notices. _I’m a fucking idiot!_ “You’re hurt. I’m hurting you,” he says but she shakes her head. “Yes, I am!” He tightens his hold on her hips, attempting to still her movements. 

“I want you to finish.”

“I…” He very nearly tells her that he did or might have or _something_ but he can’t without the whole stupid truth spilling out. “Too much wine,” he says with a shrug.

“We only had one glass each.”

“Had two before you arrived.”

“I’ve seen you drink more and still…” She nods to their joined bodies. 

It should _not_ be adorable. He’s still inside her - still hard - and they’re arguing about the effects of alcohol on his ability to ejaculate. Somehow, it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “I don’t care, Brienne. You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”

“But why can’t you…?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he answers with a chuckle, feeling triumphant. Surely he’s worn her out enough to spend the night this time. Patting her hip, he winks. “Hop off, champ, and I’ll take care of the condom.”

“But Jaime…”

“I thoroughly enjoyed fucking you for an hour but you’re obviously sore. Let me run you a bath so you can have a soak…”

She cuts him off by dismounting with no grace and a little aggression. Wobbling on her legs a bit, she immediately starts gathering her clothes. 

Jaime is stricken. _NO!_ “Brienne, what are you doing? I was going to run a bath!”

“Don’t worry about it,” she mumbles, sprinting into the en suite. 

“Seven fucking hells!” he shouts as he carefully removes the condom. All that and _still_ she’s running out on him!

A minute or so later she reappears, refusing to meet his eyes and Jaime hasn’t even had the wherewithal to dress yet. He’s standing stark naked, hands on his hips as she makes her way toward the bedroom door. In an act of sheer desperation, Jaime dashes— _naked—_ to block the exit. 

“Wait! Just hold on, please!” he implores, holding his hands up. 

Eyes still averted, she says, “Jaime… I-I want to leave.”

“I know you do. You _always_ do.” 

Something in his tone, or maybe the words themselves cause her to finally look at him. Unfortunately her eyes find his penis before traveling up to his face. “Ah, Jaime, you’re still, um… _hard_.”

Later he’ll blame frustration, blood-flow disruption and the medication itself but that’s later, much later. At the moment, he just shakes his head and without thought, says, “That’s what happens, apparently, when a healthy, virile thirty-six-year-old man takes an erectile dysfunction drug.” 

She gasps and takes a huge step backwards. “Is that how you always manage to…?”

When she doesn’t finish, just gapes at his impressively hard dick, Jaime prompts, “What, Brienne? How I manage to what?”

“Get…” She swallows and looks up. Her big blue eyes are suddenly filled with tears. “How you manage to get hard for me?”

“How I manage…? Brienne, what are you talking about?”

“I want to go home, Jaime.”

“No. Wait. This - this is important, I think. Lets…” He sighs. “Let me get dressed…”

“Can you even put anything on over _that_.” She gestures vaguely to his cock.

He can’t help but chuckle. “Ah, yes. It’ll go down now. Soon. I hope.” Still, he opts for a robe, just in case. Once it’s on, covering his… everything, he motions to the bed. “Please, champ, I just - you deserve an explanation.”

She hesitates, but eventually moves toward the bed. Once seated, Jaime follows, sitting next to her. 

“I did take a pill. _A_ pill—just one. Addam gave it to me, although he didn’t want to. I don’t have a prescription or anything, he refused. And tonight was the only time I’ve taken one,” he explains.

“Why?”

“You always leave, Brienne. I...” Oh gods, this is all going to sound ridiculous, it does in his head, at least. “I’m sorry, I was trying to get you to stay,” he finishes. Defeated, Jaime puts his head in his hands. _So this is how the great love of my life ends: miscommunication and ED drugs_.

“Stay? Ah, how was _that_ supposed to get me to say?” she asks.

“I was hoping to wear you out so you’d be too tired to leave,” he explains and that sounds even worse. Like he had been attempting to use sex as a seditive! Well, that had been the plan, he supposes. “I’m sorry, Brienne, it was stupid and minuplitve. Gods, I’m really fucking bad at being a boyfriend, aren’t I?”

She gasps. “B-boyfriend?” 

Looking up, he finds Brienne staring back, shocked and possibly— _probably_ —disgusted. “Did I fuck that up, too? I just assumed…”

“I thought we were just, um… you know...” She shrugs, eyes falling to the messy bed they left minutes before. “And, so, I just left… after because...” 

“You thought I was just fucking you?” he asks, appalled. “How could you think that?”

“We’ve never even gone _out_ on an actual date.”

_Wait, what?!_

“And I know how I look, Jaime, what people say about me.”

 _An actual date._ Jaime’s mind suddenly flashes to the end of their first meeting…

 _Jaime is just about to rebut her statement about government and the downfall of the monarchy—because he’s_ enjoying _this and he cannot remember the last time he actually met a person that not only shares his love of athletics but also of history and is intelligent to boot!—when Miss Tyrell reenters the room, informing them that their time is up. The photographer from the magazine has apparently arrived. Brienne thanks her manager politely, asking her to show them to the back garden but is suddenly quite distressed, so Jaime asks if she’s okay._

_“I’m fine,” she says though he doesn’t buy it. “I’m just… I hate having my picture taken, for obvious reasons.” She stands and offers Jaime her hand. “This interview was… well, I expected something… Actually, I’m not sure what I expected but this was fun.”_

_Jaime takes her hand but doesn’t shake it. Instead, making a decision that he knows he might regret, he slowly brings her knuckles to his lips and kisses them softly. He doesn’t release her hand as he says, “Let me take you to dinner.”_

_“Whatever for?” she asks, genuinely dumbfounded, her eyes moving quickly between his face and their joined hands._

_He can’t help but laugh. “To eat, of course, and whatever else might happen.”_

_She jerks her hand back, a hurt look in her eyes. “I don’t like being mocked, Mr Lannister.”_

_Though he’s confused by her reaction, he still manages a quick (and smooth) response. “It’s a good thing that I’m completely serious then.” For good measure and because he’s just spent two hours getting to know her, quickly figuring out that she is painfully shy, he adds, “I can cook for you at my flat, if you prefer. No flashing cameras, no reporters.” He smirks. “Besides me, of course.”_

_After a beat she says, “I assure you that there’s nothing interesting here,” motioning vaguely to her body._

_Jaime knows what she’s referring to, indicating that if he’s fishing for a scandalous tidbit for his article, he’s in the wrong pond but he cannot keep his lecherous mind from wandering to what lies beneath her modest clothing. “And I assure you that I have all I need for my piece, Miss Tarth. My invitation is purely selfish and entirely personal. It has nothing to do with my career or yours, for that matter.”_

_Her eyes narrow as she studies him for several seconds before a noise from the other room startles her. She shrugs then and says, “Okay, why not?” Though she still looks very sceptical._

I can work with that, _he thinks, pulling his mobile out of his pocket and handing it to her. “Your number? I only have Tyrell’s and I don’t want to have to arrange our first date with your manager, if you don’t mind.”_

_Brienne looks at the device like it just might bite her but takes it nonetheless, punching her number into it with gusto. Jaime gets the distinct feeling that this is some kind of test of wills that the woman is having with herself. He doesn't understand it but if it gets him her number and a date, he doesn’t much care._

_When she hands him back his phone, he immediately sends her a text that reads:_ ‘Jaime’s number. Store it, champ. I’m rooting for you’ 

_Brienne pulls her mobile out of her back pocket and smiles as she reads it. “Are you allowed to root for any of us?” she asks shyly._

_Moving as close as to her he dares, Jaime answers, “I can do whatever I like, Brienne, and so can you.” It’s the first time he uses her first name and he hopes it helps make his intention clear._

_Her cheeks have become an alluring shade of pink and he is just about to kiss one—_ the left one _, he thinks—when that fucking manager of hers shows up once again, causing Brienne to jump away as if she's been caught doing something exceedingly naughty. Jaime has to settle for a smile and a nod before taking his leave._

The dinner hadn’t happened until weeks after The Games—until Brienne had taken the bronze medal and the world by storm. In retrospect, Jaime can see how taking her to bed, even after a couple of months of text exchanges and phone calls, without ever going on a proper date had set a bad precedent. They’d just kept eating at his flat and fucking like horny rabbits on speed. Yes, she’d stayed the first night but had he ever made enough of an effort? Had he made himself clear? No. Certainly not if she didn’t know that he considered himself her boyfriend. Gods, he’s really made a hash of this whole thing. 

“Brienne,” Jaime says, reaching for her hand. Thankfully she allows it and he immediately brings her knuckles up to his mouth for a chaste kiss, hoping to remind her of their first meeting. “I’m so sorry. I-I never meant to hide you.” Her voice is suddenly in his head, saying, _I know how I look, Jaime, what people say about me_. “I’m not ashamed of you, love. I’m so fucking proud of you. _You_ , not only of what you’ve done but of who you are, your body, your lovely eyes, your kissable lips, your long neck…” He’s leaning forward now, losing the battle with her proximity. It’s almost impossible to be near her and not touch her, not kiss her.

Brienne stops him, however, and he thinks this is probably when she offically tells him to fuck off. But instead she asks, “Why didn’t you just suggest my place? That would have solved the whole staying-over thing, right?” 

He’s gobsmacked. “Fuck me sideways!” He’d never even thought of that. 

Brienne giggles. “You’re an Eddard R Furrow Award and Reason Foundation winning journalist but somehow you never considered…”

“Gods, I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not,” Brienne assures him as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. “Now, you said something about a bath.” She kisses his cheek.

“Brienne Tarth, you marvelous woman, you can have a bath and anything else you want.” He pulls her close, nuzzling her delicious neck, and asks, “Will you stay, after?”

“Yes, Jaime, I will.”

 _Thank the gods!_ Tonight, after the bath, Jaime thinks he’ll finally tell her how much he loves her. Hopefully, by then his erection will have finally subsided. He really doesn't want to have to spend their second full night together in a hospital.

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware of how inadvisable it is to take medication against it’s prescribed intention (as well as how unlikely it would be for a doctor to just 'give' his friend these meds). Since this is fiction and happening in a fully fictional world, I took quite a few liberties. As for Jaime’s super unique physical reaction (the orgasm that was or was not an orgasm), perhaps Westeros’ version of Viagra is a little different than ours. I don't advocate any of this. It's just for funsies and a laugh. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta whom I will name after the big reveal.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you liked it. Love a review!


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